HOBO CHIC

Turns out, on one hand, I’m sometimes fashionably on top of it and somehow, simultaneously, Im the epitome of the “Fashion Don’t.” You know, the girls at the back of the magazines with the black bar over their faces… yeah, sometimes -maybe more often than not- is me. I’m not the one with the sparkly Ugg boots and weird leggings though. My social blunders come by way of slapping together something in the dark. Not in the form of, hey world, look at me, I want you to know I can’t dress! For example, I’m wearing my ripped shorts, cute black top with the lace back, a zip-up hoodie and sweater boots. I’m officially a “Malibu” girl according to my close girlfriends but I’m a fashion travesty to the rest of the world. California girls will wear Ugg boots with anything. I mean, anything. Dresses? Uggs. Shorts? Uggs. Mini skirts? Uggs. House robe? Uggs. Evening gown? Yup, Uggs. Well, you get the idea.

But, add anyone east of the California border and the compliments turn sour. “That’s an interesting choice.” Oh. thanks. “Was that a fashion suggestion in Vogue?” (Followed by a giggle.) Erm, uh, not sure. But thanks. Hey, Not every outfit can be a winner. Thanks fault-finding patron, so struggling when it comes to figuring out what to wear every day in the sunshine state is always challenging. Shrugs. I could honestly care less about fashion (lying), yet I still don’t want to look like a hobo. Maybe I should start a company called “Hobo Chic.” Where I can wear my Uggs with pretty much any damn thing I desire and when someone says, uh, what’s the direction you were going with that outfit -I can respond with, hello, the direction of awesome. Haven’t you heard about that new clothing line by Rita Slanina? Oh yeah, clothing designers always refer to themselves in third person. It’s all the rage, Ugg boots with anything! It’s Hobo Chic, man. The next big thing! Totally jumping into their psyche forcing those fashion appropriate demanders of style right into submission.

Listen, friends who live anywhere but Cali. Here’s the deal. In the lovely southern region of bankrupt state with the Golden Gate, it’s difficult to know if its going to be hot or cold here. It’s cold in the morning until it gets hot. And, its hot until, suddenly, it’s cold. Then it’s hot again. Or wait, now it’s cold. Dammit. I should most likely always bring a sweater, or tank top, maybe flip flops, but wear my boots. Or, darn it, I should have grabbed my parka. Then it’s hot again and I’m sweating bullets. Now that I ponder a solution to this madness, I might consider tossing a bag in the trunk of my car with extra clothes for when the weather plays backgammon with my emotions, and my wardrobe choices. More often than not, if I’m not bundled up, I freeze to death. Because, it was hot but was suddenly bone-cilling cold and apparently the Antarctica wind chill factor has kicked up. So, today I guess, to avoid a fashion faux pas, I’m going to lug my suitcase of two or three articles of clothing, now fifteen different options to peruse and hope for a blizzard. Yeah, right. Judge me, fashion superstar. I don’t care if you sneer. Because, I’m rollin hobo.